Paper Faces
by KuryakinGirl
Summary: A prince, a party, and lost shoes. The parallels are not lost on Captain Sean Renard.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer—Recognizable characters belong to

Author's Notes—I always need new fandoms like I do holes in the head. Not sure where this came from, other than the plot bunny had biiig, shaaarp teeth and refused to let go. (Where'd I put that holy hand grenade?) My eternal thanks, as always, to my dear friend, Lanah5280 for her expertise, her patience, and her amazingness… and for betaing this for me. So blessed to have you in my life and so lucky to claim you as a sister, H.

Paper Faces—A prince, a party, and lost shoes. The parallels are not lost on Captain Sean Renard.

* * *

The prince approached her, took her by the hand, and danced with her. Furthermore, he would dance with no one else.

* * *

He stood, waiting impatiently at the bottom of the stairs. While he knew that his wife took indeterminably long to get ready, it seemed she was dragging her feet worse than normal. They were due at the opera and, at this rate, they'd be lucky if they arrived at all. "Darling, you know I hate to rush you…" That wasn't true. He loved to pester her. It was all part of their routine. As he prepared to mouth her typical response with her, that "One cannot rush perfection," he was shocked at the shrill tone in her voice, and the lack of their normal banter.

"Have you seen my necklace?"

He frowned, resigning himself to missing the show as he began retreating up the stairs. "I believe all of your necklaces are in your jewelry box."

"Yeah, that's what I thought, but the double-strand of pearls, the one I wanted to wear, it's not in here."

Mentally, he checked over the litany of things she'd asked him to have appraised for their new insurance, but he'd sat with the appraiser and had gotten each of them, including her grandmother's pearls, back. While he'd often tried to convince her that they needed a safety deposit box for such things, she'd balked, saying what if she wanted to wear it and the bank was closed. One never knew, after all, when one needed to look fabulous. He'd caved, opting to increase the security around the house instead. "They were there yesterday, weren't they? When you were pondering what to wear?"

"They were here this morning," she said, looking in horror at the open drawers of her jewelry box.

If her brow wasn't creased in concern and her mouth drawn tightly, she might've looked breathtakingly stunning in her black and cream gown. As he strode into their dressing room, he asked: "Are you sure you didn't just… misfile it?" He moved to stand behind her, looking over her shoulder at the numerous baubles she had accumulated over their fifteen years together. Truthfully, he was amazed she remembered what every piece looked like.

She shook her head vehemently. "I always put it in the same place to protect it," she said, unbuttoning the padded case and flipping it open, revealing absolutely nothing.

"And you put it back there this morning." Off her nod, he removed the cell phone from his pocket. Without hesitating, without further question, he called the police.

"Sweetheart?" she asked, looking up at him quizzically.

"Yes, I'd like to report a robbery, please."

Feeling absolutely sick, she nearly fell into the chair in front of her vanity.

* * *

Sergeant Wu tossed a file onto the already piled high desks of Detectives Nick Burkhardt and Hank Griffin.

Hank's shoulders slumped. "Man, I haven't even had my coffee yet."

"Our twisted Robin Hood struck again," Wu said, folding his arms across his chest.

"I'm not sure why we keep calling him that," Nick said, sliding into his seat for the day. "There's no proof that he's given any of the riches to anyone less fortunate."

"Sure he has," quipped Wu. "Himself."

"Any evidence this time?" Nick asked, opening the file.

"You mean: did we get insanely lucky?" asked Wu with a half-hearted chuckle. "Wouldn't that be a switch? Good luck on your ghost hunt."

"Just another addition to the things that go bump in the night," Nick muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the paragraphs of Wu's carefully-worded report. It was just like the eight other open cases they were looking into—somewhere between morning tennis lessons and afternoon tee times, some valuable piece of jewelry went missing. The sentimental value seemed hit or miss, but the monetary one was always extreme.

Hank disappeared for a moment, returning with two steaming mugs. He placed one in front of Nick before leaning against his partner's desk. "Any of our wesen like shiny things?"

"You'd think, if it was hardwired into a wesen, they'd take more than one thing. A whole jewelry box that could be wiped out, but only one piece is missing?"

"Talking about human greed, same thing. Why not take a handful of things?"

"Something spooked 'em maybe?"

Captain Sean Renard emerged from his office, moving directly for his two star detectives. He slid his hands into his pockets as he approached. "You're up to date on the latest, I take it?"

"If this really is Robin Hood, like some are suggesting… is it really so bad?" asked Hank. "It's kind of weirdly poetic if you think about it. A member of the ninety-nine percent taking one percent from the one percent?"

"Political protester or no, I've been on the phone with the Mayor for the past hour. I want this solved. Quickly," he insisted.

Nick pointed at the open file on his desk. "No one unauthorized had access to the house, just like the other eight."

With a sigh, Wu answered a ringing phone.

"Then start rounding up all those who _did_ have access," Renard ordered. "Assistants, drivers, gardeners… I don't care."

Wu covered the mouthpiece of the phone. "Captain?" As Renard looked up at him, he shrugged a little. "It's the Chief."

Renard inhaled slowly, standing at his full height and squaring his shoulders. "I'll take it in my office."

"That's really not necessary," Wu said, wincing. "He'd like to see you in _his_ office."

Hank would never admit, even under penalty of perjury, that the icy look Renard shot them before he vanished was frightening, or that it made him internally shiver. "So…"

"Captain wants a houseful… we'll give him a houseful," Nick said, getting to his feet. "Wu?"

"I'll rustle up some uniforms; we'll take the first four houses," said the Sergeant. "We letting anybody take a pass with a solid alibi?"

Nick shook his head. "I want alibis written up here, where they can't warn the others, in case there's somebody we miss in our roundup."

"Since when did Portland become the Old West?" Hank asked, following his partner toward the door.

"Since Monday," Nick responded, answering with the date of the first known robbery.

* * *

By the time Renard returned to the station, it was packed with people. Uniforms lingered in and amongst the groups, keeping them an unearthly kind of silent. By the looks of them, he was certain that his detectives had gotten exactly what he'd asked for—everyone who might've had access to the stolen jewelry.

With a practiced eye, he let his gaze linger over each person in turn, but only briefly, summing them up in no time. Some seemed genuinely scared, but not because they had something to hide, probably because the authority exacted by his officers was unyielding as he'd insisted. A few looked sketchy. All in all, they seemed fairly normal.

When he spotted Nick, Hank, and Wu regrouping, he joined them. "Well?"

"First vic has a nanny with some serious school bills," Hank said. "And some credit card debt."

"But, why not clear out her boss's jewelry? The collection was worth more than enough to square her with all her creditors," Nick responded. "It's not her."

Wu nodded his head at the dark-haired woman at his desk, who was rubbing at the back of her neck while she waited. "This one had access to four of the eight. The cleaning company she works for tidies up after most of our rich and infamous. Plus, her rather destitute father just died after a long, tenuous, and expensive battle with cancer. My money is on her."

Nick shrugged. "There's something about her that just doesn't feel right. I dunno, it's weird, Captain. It's like none of these suspects seem… suspicious."

"You don't like any of these hundred people for the job?" the Captain asked, gesturing around the room.

Nick shook his head, prompting a heavy, deep sigh from Renard.

In the silence that followed, Wu let his curiosity get the better of him. "What did the Chief want?"

Truthfully, Renard's head was still spinning from the surreal conversation. "Not at all what I'd expected." In fact, the tickets the Chief had given him felt heavy and awkward in the interior pocket of his jacket. Worse still, he had mere hours to try to come up with something appropriate to wear, all the while an investigation was brewing and needed his attention. He looked at Nick. "I still want answers."

Nick held his hands up. "We'll talk to them again."

Renard retreated to his office, closing the door and closing his eyes. It made sense somewhat, but he felt like the best, smartest course of action would've been for the Chief to have chalked it up to bad timing and sent along his regards. Instead, he had been presented with two tickets to the biggest fundraising event of the year, a masquerade ball benefiting the children's wing at the hospital. At five hundred bucks a pop, the seats would be filled by the city's elite… the city's newest victims.

Understandably, the Chief's wife was leery about leaving her belongings, even being married to the highest ranking police officer in the city. And the Chief wanted to be available to all who might need police assistance, not just those at the event.

As graciously as humanly possible, Renard had tried to back out of going, saying that they all needed another set of boots on the ground, looking for the criminal, but the Chief suggested that Renard go, schmooze, and reassure the wealthy party-goers that they were well protected by Portland's finest. Renard prided himself on knowing when battles were to be fought and when he knew he was lost. Given the glint of cold steel in the Chief's eyes, Renard knew he had little choice but to accept the tickets, though he didn't have a plus one.

Taking a seat at his desk, he thought for a moment. Where was he going to find an appropriate costume for the night? Sighing, he picked up the phone book and flipped through the pages, before lifting his phone to start the least productive kind of police work he'd done all week.

* * *

Stay tuned…

Lines from the Next Installment:

There wasn't enough champagne in the world to stop the ringing in his ears caused by the whining party-goers. After an hour's worth of their crappy interrogation, he was done. He was so through with the party that he started to leave, but stopped in mid-step when he saw _her_ enter.

She was a vision, with rich dark brown curls pinned atop her head and wrapped in sumptuous cobalt blue silk. The fitted bodice hugged her curves, before flowing into a full skirt. Her eye mask glittered silver and, upon closer inspection, he realized that the dress had the most delicate silver detailing. When she bit her ruby-red lower lip, he forgot all about his desires to flee.


	2. Chapter 2

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously, on Grimm: The city's wealthy are being hit hard by a jewel thief. Nick and Hank are coming up empty, but Renard gets the really short stick by having to fill in for the Police Chief at a charity event, rubbing elbows with the victims and the potential victims.

* * *

He was starting to feel his heartbeat throb in the vein in his forehead, hidden behind the Phantom-esque half mask on his face. After having had the same conversation for the fifteenth time, Captain Sean Renard suddenly understood the Chief's real reluctance in attending the charity event. He had been inundated with questions he couldn't answer. No matter how many times he repeated the mantra that he could not comment on open investigations, it didn't seem to matter. The more he said it, the more he was asked about how close they were to finding the thief.

There wasn't enough champagne in the world to stop the ringing in his ears caused by the whining party-goers. After an hour's worth of their crappy interrogation, he was done. He was so through with the party that he started to leave, but he stopped in mid-step when he saw _her_ enter.

She was a vision, with rich, dark brown curls pinned atop her head and wrapped in sumptuous cobalt blue silk. The fitted bodice hugged her curves, before flowing into a full skirt. Her eye mask glittered silver and, upon closer inspection, he realized that the dress had the most delicate silver detailing. When she bit her ruby-red lower lip, he forgot all about his desires to flee.

Of all the guests he'd seen—and he was certain he'd seen them all—she was the only woman who had arrived unescorted.

As she moved, with haste, toward the party, he wondered if she'd spotted someone she recognized, though he wasn't sure how, with the masks. Even more confusing was the peculiar feeling that surged through him, and he was intimately aware of a certain, strange heaviness in his chest that hadn't been there moments before.

Rather than moving to greet a friend with a hug, or to find her date, she made a beeline for one of the tuxedoed waiters, lifting a champagne flute from his tray. She downed the drink quickly, smiling almost bashfully at the waiter who wordlessly accepted the empty glass from her. Though she was offered a second, she politely refused, and the server walked off. Despite her beauty, she seemed endearingly nervous.

Before he knew it, he was at her side. "Good evening," he murmured.

She jumped, placing a porcelain hand over her rapidly beating heart. "Oh, I… Good evening," she returned, nearly breathless.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he told her honestly. The smile she gave him in return was brilliant; though he was sure it was even more stunning without the mask.

"Oh, no, you didn't. I'm so sorry, I just… I don't normally do this," she said, gesturing at the party before them. "At all, really."

"These things aren't my favorite either," he admitted. "But I might change my mind after tonight."

Her eyes widened behind her mask, and she laughed. "Oh, I doubt that. Not because of me."

"I guess we'll just have to see at night's end," he told her. He held an open hand out to her. "Would you care to dance?"

She looked at his open palm for a moment, as though she was weighing her options. "No guarantees your toes will survive the night."

He shrugged. "I'll take my chances."

"You're a brave soul, are you?" she asked, fidgeting in her dress for just a moment.

His hand never wavered in front of her. "I have bravery to share."

Swallowing hard, she placed her chilly hand into his warm one. His fingers closed around hers, and she felt her cheeks flame as bright as her lipstick.

The string quartet played song after song, and she lost track of the numbers they had spun through. All she knew was that he was exceedingly graceful, and she was just grateful that she hadn't stepped on his toes yet.

When they slowed to a stop for a moment, Renard lowered his hand from her back to rest on her hip. "You dance better than you let on."

"Well, let's chalk it up to beginner's luck," she said, laughing a sweet, self-depreciating chuckle.

For a second, he failed to recognize what the tapping on his shoulder meant. When two fingers pressed harder into his shoulder blade, however, he glanced over to see one of his masked interrogators looking rather put-upon. "Seems your attentions are wanted elsewhere," he said, reluctantly letting go of her. He bowed slightly to the man behind him, who did little more than nod curtly. "Excuse me."

Renard sighed, finding a glass of champagne for himself. He inhaled deeply, trying to center his thoughts. He really should have bowed out already, to check back in with Nick and Hank, and see if their investigation had gotten any further. Instead, he found himself wanting to stay, at least until the unmasking, and to see who he'd been dancing with for the better part of an hour. When he realized how much time had flown, how they had barely slowed down, how they had flirted their way through sixty minutes, he could hardly believe that it was the same amount of time he'd endured being questioned about the status of the case. That had dragged on, seeming to last forever, whereas her being in his arms had felt like mere moments.

When he turned, to see where she'd gone on the dance floor, he realized that the gentleman who had cut in on him had moved on to someone else. He wasn't sure why he panicked, but he was suddenly deathly curious where she had gone, and his eyes searched the rest of the party, locating the gorgeous blue gown at one of the many tables. It looked as though she wasn't quite sure how to sit with the full skirt. He chuckled slightly to himself, watching as she finally managed to lower herself and the gown to the chair.

Before rejoining her, Renard stopped by the buffet table for a plate and procured two more flutes from one of the servers. "You look like you might need to get your strength back," he told her, presenting her with an assortment of the most beautiful desserts she had ever seen.

"How could you possibly know that?" she asked.

"Because I'm famished," he responded, sitting down beside her and stealing one of the petit fours from the plate.

She looked, for a moment, at the display of delectable goodies he had produced before selecting a juicy red strawberry, covered in its own mask of milk and dark chocolate. "Thank you," she murmured, glancing at him.

"You know, I don't think I've ever spent this much time with someone whose identity is a complete mystery."

"Well, wait five minutes," she said. "Then it'll be even longer."

Even with the mask, he could see the mischievous playfulness in her eyes, but he could tell, too, it was darkened with something he couldn't quite put his finger on, not without getting the whole picture of her face. Though, from the graceful lines of her jaw and neck, he was sure that the rest of her had to be as stunning as the parts he could see. "You haven't even asked what I do, what my name is…"

"I thought that was the whole point of a masquerade," she said, still holding the strawberry, as though it was something to be cherished before eaten. "To hide your identity, to be something that maybe you aren't all the time."

"What are you hiding?" he asked.

She looked up at him. She whispered her answer reverently: "Everything."

He leaned in toward her, drawn to her, invading her space. "_Everything_ everything?"

His cologne filled her senses, his very presence made all her nerve endings seem to come to life. "Almost everything," she murmured.

After two plates of desserts – the second one piled high with strawberries – and a half dozen champagnes between them, not to mention more dances than either of them could count, she found herself getting drowsy, resting her head against his strong, broad shoulder. She decided she could get used to being in his arms.

He wasn't sure when he slowed to a stop, and how long he'd just been standing there, holding this complete enigma in his arms, but he discovered that he liked it. He'd done as she had. He'd left his title behind, even his name. For a while, he was just her dance partner, and he had learned that was a freeing thing.

When the band stopped, and the host for the evening's events tapped on the microphone, she dazedly lifted her head, turning in his arms to face the excitement, whatever it was.

"It is my great pleasure to let you know that we have raised nearly $75,000 this evening." While the room erupted into pleasant applause, the host held his hands up to settle them. "Every ticket purchased, every generous donation, every person here has made the life of a sick child better, and I thank you all wholeheartedly for that. And now, for the moment of truth… While the party certainly isn't over, our clock is about to chime midnight. It is the hour of the unmasking."

Renard was ready to drop the charade. He was ready to discover who he had spent his evening with and, hopefully, to make plans for another one.

She was suddenly doused with icy cold fear, from head to toe, as panic coursed through her body. She had let time get away from her, and she was, potentially, about to pay the price. When he lowered his arms from being around her, no doubt to remove his mask, she had no choice. Hiking up her skirt, she bolted.

In the mere moment it had taken him to remove his mask, she was halfway to the nearest exit. His inner police officer returned and he called out: "Wait!" before chasing off after her. It wasn't easy, as the unmasked party-goers began milling about to see who had been who. He did his very best not to shove people out of his way, though he had wanted to.

Five feet from the door, he found a left shoe, the same silver pump he'd spotted occasionally at the very edge of her skirt. Ten feet outside the door, he located the right one, along with the glittery mask, all abandoned.

He knew he was a royal, but it was ridiculous, that he'd found himself in the midst of Cinderella. Prince Charming, he wasn't, certainly not now. He was more pissed off than anything else. And, as curious as he was, he wasn't about to go trying shoes on all the wealthy women in town. With a heavy sigh, he dropped the left shoe by the right one.

If she didn't want anything to do with him, he didn't want anything to do with her, either.

He made it halfway around the block, toward his parked car, when he stopped and retreated. Though he wasn't looking for a memento of the evening, he couldn't let the mask sit on the ground for some reason. Scooping it up, he looked at it, the way it caught the light from the streetlamps. It reminded him of seeing the light in her eyes, tempered by the shadows.

* * *

Stay tuned…

Lines from the Next Installment:

When the door slammed open and Renard walked in, he looked like death warmed over. As soon as his aviators were removed from his eyes, he looked like he hadn't slept in days. "This better be good."

"We got her," Wu said, unable to hide his glee.

Renard tilted his head slightly. "Her?" he repeated. While they'd been operating under the theory that it was a man, it wasn't completely out of the realm of possibilities that it was a woman.


	3. Chapter 3

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously, on Grimm: Captain Renard attends a masquerade ball in the Chief's stead, taking the heat that the Chief should've taken from the wealthy Portland residents. While he's ready to leave, he meets a beguiling stranger, only to have her run from him at midnight.

* * *

Nick and Hank lingered by the front door, both with matching smiles. After all, they'd caught the thief. Wu, however, was grinning the widest, with a crisp new twenty dollar bill in his pocket after lying down some cash in the middle of the night with Hank as to who had done it. Though Nick made a convincing argument for the second family's driver, and Hank had decided it had to be the tennis coach, Wu stood by his initial theory, that the maid with the father's medical bills had done it. And at six AM, that bright, shining morning, they'd gotten the call with the damning security footage.

Better still, they had caught her red-handed, looking in a chintzy, cheap plastic jewelry box at her new horde of goodies.

The three couldn't wait for the Captain to arrive and to share the good news.

When the door slammed open and Renard walked in, he looked like death warmed over. As soon as the aviators were removed from his eyes, he looked like he hadn't slept in days. "This better be good."

"We got her," Wu said, unable to hide his glee.

Renard tilted his head slightly. "Her?" he repeated. While they'd been operating under the theory that it was a man, it wasn't completely out of the realm of possibilities that it was a woman.

"Caught her with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar. Of course, she's swearing up and down she was somewhere else last night, but… there's art," continued Wu.

"New vic upgraded his security after the first break-in on Monday; caught her on camera," Nick explained. "She really should've waited, y'know, let the heat die down."

"Have you interrogated her yet?" Renard asked, sliding his sunglasses into their case.

"Nah, she was saying all that in the car on the drive over here," Hank answered. "Figured we'd wait till you got here to really get things started."

Renard gestured for them to lead the way.

Hank and Nick went straight for the interrogation room, while Wu joined Renard to observe.

The woman sat, staring at the handcuffs that held her to the interrogation room table, looking at them as though they were completely foreign and unknown to her. She jumped when the door opened and the two detectives walked in.

Nick eased into the chair across from her. "Emma Scott, employed by Spotless, a residential cleaning service, for five years. Surrounded, for all that time, by the decadence of Portland's elite… must've been so hard, resisting those thieving urges for so long."

"As I said before, I really don't know what this is all about," she said, looking pleadingly at Nick. "I wasn't at anyone's house last night. Well, except my own."

"Emma, Emma, Emma," Hank tsked. "All of the stolen jewelry was found at your apartment this morning. You were admiring your loot."

"I told you, I found the box this morning. I have no idea how it got there. I thought…" She drifted off. "Doesn't matter what I thought. I didn't take those things."

"You were home, all night. Starting when?" asked Nick, sliding a pen and piece of paper across the table toward her.

She winced. "Well, not… not all night."

* * *

Wu glanced at Renard, when the Captain suddenly stood straighter, taller. "Are you okay, sir?"

"Fine," responded Renard, his voice clipped. There was something about her that seemed familiar. He chalked it up to the fact that she could've been one of the dozens he had seen at the station the day before. But there was something about her dark hair, her scrubbed clean face that lingered on the very edge of his consciousness, that nagged at him. "The video… it had a time-stamp?"

"Eleven. The Pattersons didn't get home till three, passed out for a few hours, then reviewed the tapes when they woke up this morning."

Renard nodded slowly, returning his focus to his detectives as they continued.

"The truth comes out," Hank said, crossing his arms. "So, you went to the Pattersons' first?"

"No, I went… I went to a party," she said, closing her eyes and gritting her teeth.

"A party?" Nick glanced at Hank briefly before looking back at her. "Okay, great. Who was there who can corroborate your story?"

"Nobody. Nobody knew I was there," she said, realizing how flimsy her story was sounding with each passing second.

"You got a phone number on this 'nobody?'" asked Nick.

She sighed, trying to sit up and to move closer, in the hopes that they might believe her, but it was difficult with her wrist encased in the cuff. "It was a charity event, okay? The masquerade."

Wu shook his head, amazed at the desperation of some criminals. Of course, how could she have guessed that her made-up alibi happened to be exactly where the Captain of that precinct had been the night before?

Renard rapped loudly on the mirrored glass. The urgency in his pattern left no room for doubt; he wanted to see his detectives.

* * *

"Hold that thought," Nick said through a fake smile, following his partner out into the corridor. "Captain?"

"I want you to continue the line of questioning… but if I tell you to stop, you're going to stop it. Is that understood?"

"Why would we stop?" asked Hank.

"I said 'if,'" Renard reminded.

"Um… all right," Nick said slowly, wondering what the Captain was up to. His curiosity intensified when the Captain followed them into the room.

"The charity event… nobody there knew you?" Hank asked.

Emma warily eyed the new addition, but he moved behind her, so she couldn't see him very well at all, except in the shadowy reflection in the mirror across from her. "No. I… I left before the unmasking because I work for half the people there. One even asked me to dance. I don't think he knew it was me, but I couldn't… I couldn't take that chance, y'know?"

"Why couldn't you?" pressed Nick.

"I didn't… I didn't buy the ticket. I thought that they would think that I was the one who had stolen their heirlooms if they saw me there, dressed like… like I was."

"Imagine that," Hank scoffed.

When the Captain caught Nick's eye, the detective reluctantly changed course in his questioning. "What can you tell me about the party?"

"It was a masquerade. There were… I dunno, a hundred or so people there."

Hank asked: "And nobody knew that you were there?"

"No. I met someone, but… but I didn't ask who he was. That was the point, right?" she asked, looking between the detectives for some kind of confirmation that she'd done the right thing. None was forthcoming.

Nick rubbed at his forehead. "How long were you there?"

"I left right at midnight," she said.

"At the party, they served champagne?" Renard spoke up for the first time, moving to stand slightly closer to her, emerging from his self-imposed shadows. Off her nod, he continued. "Was it served in flutes or coupes?"

She looked at his reflection. "I-I don't…" Her voice wavered as she shrugged. She had no idea; they were just glasses to her.

"Tall and thin," he provided. "Or short and round?"

She was quick to answer. "Tall and thin."

Nick glanced at the Captain for confirmation, and Renard nodded. "A fifty-fifty shot. Lucky guess," Nick derided.

"I was there!" she insisted.

"What did they have to eat?" asked Renard.

Her mouth watered at the memory. "There were all kinds of sweets, little cakes and cookies, and the most decadent chocolate-covered strawberries I'd ever had in my life."

Renard pulled a sparkling mask from his pocket, placing it gently on the table in front of her. "I would have to agree."

Her eyes widened at the sight of _her_ mask. Her head nearly wrenched off her shoulders to look back at him. "You…?" she murmured, stunned.

"This interrogation is over. Remove the cuffs," Renard ordered.

"Sir—" Nick was ready to protest, vehemently.

"I was with her from nine until midnight last night," Renard explained. "She wasn't out of my sight for more than five minutes. There's no way she could've done what you claim."

"But the video…?" asked Hank. "Without question, it's her."

Renard was unconvinced. "Let's take a closer look at that, shall we?"

Nick didn't move to uncuff her right away. "Maybe we should discuss this first. There are certain… things… that might be at play here, things that we might need to discuss in greater depths, the three of us," he said, indicating the Captain, Hank, and himself.

The Captain's eyes were cold, unmoving. As Nick sighed, retrieving his cuff keys, Renard spoke. "Emma, Sergeant Wu," he said, gesturing for the uniformed officer to join them, "is going to get you a cup of coffee, and he's going to move you somewhere more comfortable than this interrogation room. After I discuss a few things with my detectives, we'll have a far more pleasant conversation about what's transpired this morning, and we'll get you home soon."

Emma did the only thing she could do: dumbly nod. The moment her wrist was free from the metal, her arm retracted into her body protectively. With trepidation, she turned, to look up at Renard. She wasn't entirely sure what she was going to see, now that she knew he was a police captain and the reason for her sudden freedom after her startling capture. While she thought she might have seen pity or disgust, she was surprised to see the same compassion she'd seen the night before. It allayed her fears and she went, without another word, with Wu.

"Are you really going to go on record as a thief's alibi? Especially when the Chief wants this wrapped up?" asked Nick.

"It's our job to see that justice is done. And Emma Scott is innocent. She was with me during the break-in. And if the Chief has a problem with that… he's the one that gave me the tickets to the event in the first place," Renard reminded them.

* * *

Stay tuned…

Lines from the Next Installment:

Hank shook his head as he got off the telephone. "Here's another fun twist."

"What?" Nick asked, glancing up from his computer screen.

"Turns out the last ticket presented at the gala last night was fake. The cardstock wasn't as thick, the printing wasn't as crisp. I guess the ticket taker didn't care; the event had been going on for a while."

"So, Emma fibbed her way inside. But why?" Nick leaned back in his chair. "Why risk it?"


	4. Chapter 4

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously, on Grimm: Nick and Hank think they've got the jewelry thief, only to learn that Emma Scott has the best possible alibi: she was with the Captain during the latest heist.

* * *

Emma sat in the chair across from Renard's desk, her chilly fingers wrapped tightly around a steaming mug with the Portland Police Department crest emblazoned on the side. She knew that they were all trying to help her now, but the truth of the matter was, she had no idea who could have been trying to set her up. "I don't have any work enemies," she said, shaking her head in response to Nick's question.

"Come on… surely there's somebody out there, maybe one who thinks you have the cushy assignments?" pressed the Grimm.

"I usually take the assignments nobody else wants. While, yes, there are some homeowners out there who are… well… divas," she said, choosing the nicest word she could, "it's a job. And usually those kinds of homeowners tend to tip well at Christmas, my birthday. I mean, it's not enough that my coworkers would want to take the job away from me, not when nearly every second of time spent in the home is spent at the demanding beck and call of someone."

"What about something personal?" asked Hank. "Any jealous girlfriends of ex-boyfriends?"

"If there are, then I don't know about them," she answered.

"No jealous girlfriends? Or no ex-boyfriends?" queried Wu.

"No jealous girlfriends. Only a few ex-boyfriends, most on pretty good terms," she explained further.

"Most?" asked Nick.

"Well, all except one, I guess. But he's married now, so I assume we're okay." She shrugged.

Renard looked at Wu. "See how our tech team is doing on the video?" With a nod, the sergeant left. Wordlessly, he turned his gaze to Nick, who took the cue.

"We'll go… check on something else," Nick said, elbowing Hank.

After a moment, they were surrounded in blissful silence again. But Emma couldn't let it stand long. "This wasn't exactly how I pictured seeing you again," she admitted.

"Likewise," he returned with a slight dip of his head. Slowly he stood, moved around to the front of his desk and leaned against it, standing near her. "I know you've been asked a lot of questions, and some of them with a certain vitriol that, unfortunately, comes with this line of work." He looked at her. "We are trying to help you here."

"I know you are," she murmured.

"Tell me about how you came into possession of the ticket."

"This woman stopped me as I was leaving the main office, after I'd turned in my invoices for the day. She said that it looked like I could use some fun. She said she likened herself to being a fairy godmother, said I should go and have a few hours away from my troubles. She even… I don't know how she did it, how it fit so perfectly, but she gave me the dress, too."

"You still have it?"

She nodded. "It's at home."

He let her news sink in. "You're sure you've never seen the woman before, the one with the ticket and the dress?"

"Never," she confirmed. "I thanked her profusely. She said it wasn't necessary… and then when all this happened, I…" She drifted off, covering her eyes with one of her hands. "I know it was too good to be true, but it was nice to hope again, to dream, even if it was only for a few hours."

He reached out, wordlessly touching her shoulder softly, briefly. When she lowered her hand, she met his gaze for a split second. In that brief glance, he was fairly certain he felt her thanks. He cleared his throat, moving on. "And you didn't ask how she knew your dress size?"

"I was a little more concerned about finding shoes and getting my hair done, if the honest truth were told. I mean, it unsettled me, that it fit _so_ well, but it was so beautiful, and it was my favorite color… not to mention the fact, I didn't have anything else I could've possibly worn to an event as nice as the party last night."

"I'd like to see the dress, see if we can't track down who may have sold it."

"Anything you need," she said.

Before he could offer to take her home, the phone on his desk rang. "Excuse me," he murmured before answering. "Renard." As he recognized the Chief's pissed off voice, he lowered the phone, covering the mouthpiece for a moment. "See if Detectives Burkhardt and Griffin can take you to get the dress," he said. "I'll see you soon."

After having gotten her hopes entirely too high the night before, she refused to let them get too far off the ground now. The previous night had been a fantasy, a fairytale, and she was content to have the memories of such a wonderful time. Her smile was soft as she saw herself out.

* * *

Hank shook his head as he got off the telephone. "Here's another fun twist."

"What?" Nick asked, glancing up from his computer screen.

"Turns out the last ticket presented at the gala last night was fake. The cardstock wasn't as thick, the printing wasn't as crisp. I guess the ticket taker didn't care; the event had been going on for a while."

"So, Emma fibbed her way inside. But why?" Nick leaned back in his chair. "Why risk it?"

"Well, it does provide a good alibi," Hank returned.

"Yeah, but, what were the odds that she would run into the guy who oversees those who would have arrested her? Particularly when the Captain was only given the tickets in the Chief's place. And the Chief's wife would not have been so kind to some woman who wanted to dance with her husband if that had been her goal all along," Nick said, running a hand over his face.

Wu wandered over, eying Hank cautiously. Mostly because he didn't want to have to shell out the twenty he felt he had won fairly and squarely. "So, tech says there's no way that video has been edited."

"What if the tape wasn't edited?" asked Hank. "What if she reset the clock to make it read later in the night? That way she could do a little shopping before going to the event?"

"It's starting to feel like a frame-up," Nick said, shaking his head. "You saw how antsy she was, trying to tell us about her alibi and realizing that she couldn't."

Wu interjected. "So, you're saying that someone with her face waltzed in there the same time she was waltzing with the Captain and walked away with the expensive earrings? No jury's gonna buy that story either."

Timidly, Emma cleared her throat.

All three men turned to see her, and all wondered how much she had heard.

"Captain Renard said that one of you might see me home?" she said. "I think I have some more evidence for you to investigate."

* * *

After three hours, they were still nowhere. The only thing that Wu had learned was that the gown had been purchased at a local dress shop a week prior, but the clerk couldn't remember who had bought it, only that it had been paid for with cash.

Nick and Hank's questioning of Emma's co-workers hadn't gotten them very far either, except proving that she was sweet and kind, someone who didn't have enemies. While she had taken her father's death hard, and hadn't been herself for a while immediately following his passing, no one they talked to believed she could have done such a thing as steal from her clients' houses.

Renard looked at the drawing provided by Emma and the department's sketch artist as he listened to his officers report on their non-findings. While they'd been busy, he'd been listening to the Chief and the Mayor demand Emma's head on a platter. When his ears threatened to bleed from those phone calls, he wound up talking with other concerned citizens who put forth a reward for information leading to the arrest of the thief, hoping that would spur the police to act and good Samaritans to come forward with a solid, clear lead.

After Wu went to put out an APB on the sketch, Hank shrugged. "Maybe we're looking at this wrong, Captain. Maybe we need to be looking into the ugly stepsisters."

While Nick fought to hide his smile, the Captain wasn't laughing. "You two should get on that."

Not waiting to be told again, Nick and Hank retreated into the squad room, passing Emma who was still lingering, hoping for news. She met the Captain's eyes, and he waved her into this office.

"How's it going?" she asked, though she was fairly certain she knew, given the pensive look on his face.

"It seems, Emma, that you're still the only lead."

She sighed softly, easing into the chair that Nick had just vacated. "I keep going over it in my head, who might want something bad to happen to me..." She soberly looked up at him. "It's not a pleasant experience."

"I'd imagine not," he said gently. But, he had to ask: "Did you come up with anything?"

"Three boys in elementary school who were bullies and I got them into trouble because they were doing things that ought to get them in trouble," she said. "But, I'm not from Portland and I don't imagine that they would've followed me here, not for that."

"Probably not," he agreed with a slight smile.

"And then there was the girl I beat out for the lead role in the class play in high school but, again... not really something that I think is a frame-worthy offense. And then... then there was the lawyer from last year."

Renard's eyebrows drifted up. "What lawyer?"

"After my father died, he left some debts. This lawyer was constantly calling and saying he was going to sue, but I made the payments. It took some time, and some serious scraping together of money, but I paid everything off."

"Anyone else?"

"There was a homeless person outside the grocery store who didn't like that I gave him food instead of money for cigarettes. Well, and there was Denise."

"Denise...?" prompted Renard.

"Denise Callahan. She was my father's girlfriend at the time he passed. She caused a bit of a ruckus at his funeral over his nonexistent estate, but..." She shrugged. "But, she doesn't have my face. None of those people I mentioned do." She inhaled deeply, resigning herself to the bad news. "It doesn't matter where the leads go, does it? Because there's only one person who could be on that tape, and... and it's me."

"It doesn't sound promising, no," he admitted. "But, it also isn't adding up."

"No matter what happens," Emma began haltingly, "I appreciate your corroborating my story."

"It's an easy thing to do," he told her. "Especially since it was the truth."

* * *

Stay tuned...

Lines from the Next Installment:

"Hey, Nick," Monroe answered.

"Monroe, have you heard of a..." He winced, realizing his choice of words was probably poor. "A shape-shifter wesen?"

"You realize that's what all wesen are, right?"

"I don't mean you turn into something else. I mean, you turn into _someone_ else," Nick said, hoping that made things somewhat clearer.


	5. Chapter 5

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously, on Grimm: The investigation leads nowhere fast, but Emma helps provide a sketch of the woman who was her so-called fairy godmother, letting her go to the ball. She realizes, though, that only one person has her face. Her innocence will be hard to prove, even with Renard as her alibi.

* * *

Nick sat behind the wheel, driving out to Denise Callahan's last known address. It wasn't the first time that they had gone on a wild goose chase at the behest of a suspect, and Nick knew it wouldn't be the last. It didn't make it any easier or better, though. "What are we missing, Hank?"

His partner shrugged. "Meatloaf special at the diner?"

Having forgotten about lunch, Nick's stomach suddenly groaned loudly in protest. While eating sounded like the best thing ever, he knew there was no rest for the weary. "Other than that. I mean, what are we missing with this investigation?"

"Well, it's been the first investigation in a while without a wesen somewhere involved," Hank answered. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

Nick couldn't be sure. "Huh."

Hank watched as Nick pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket. With a few practiced flicks, he soon had the call on speaker as he drove.

"Hey, Nick," Monroe answered.

"Monroe, have you heard of a..." He winced, realizing his choice of words was probably poor. "A shape-shifter wesen?"

"You realize that's what all wesen are, right?"

"I don't mean you turn into something else. I mean, you turn into _someone_ else," Nick said, hoping that made things somewhat clearer.

"What, you mean like a doppelganger?" asked Monroe.

Nick shrugged. "Something like that."

"Um," Monroe murmured, thinking. "Let me get Rosalee, see if she has."

After a hushed conversation, Rosalee's warm voice suddenly filled the car. "Doppelgangers aren't wesen, usually. Well, I guess they can be, but typically it's a spell, something crafted by a Hexenbiest. Are you dealing with a doppelganger? Because if you are, those spells have shelf lives."

"I'm looking for someone who can be two places at once and that doesn't happen in the mundane world, so I figure you two might know something about that," Nick said. "I just want to know if it's possible."

"Haven't you learned by now, Nick?" asked Rosalee, a smile evident in her voice. "Anything is possible."

"There any way you can come up with a list?" asked Hank. "Something we could check off as we ruled them out?"

"We'll get right on it," Rosalee promised.

It wasn't much longer before they were pulling up outside Denise Callahan's last known address, an apartment complex that had seen far better days. There were a few missing shingles and bent, loose pieces of siding. The wreath on the door was made of silk flowers that had faded in the sun and frayed in the wind. "Somebody might want a little extra cash if they lived here, right?" asked Nick as he knocked on the door.

"Yeah, but wouldn't you fence the goods and get the hell outta town if you lived here?" asked Hank.

The Grimm sighed heavily. "That's assuming anything about this case makes sense... which it doesn't."

A young woman with dirty blonde dreadlocks appeared in the door, wearing hip-hugging blue jeans and a thin, tie-dyed tee shirt. "Yeah?" she asked, looking from Nick to Hank and back again.

"Detectives Burkhardt and Griffin," Nick said, showing his badge. "We're looking for Denise Callahan."

"Yeah? Me, too. She... she's not been home in a couple days," she said, twisting a dreadlock around her finger. "I'm really starting to get worried and was about to call the police, to report her missing. Can I do that? I mean, can I report it to you?"

Hank pulled out his notebook. "When did you see her last?"

"I dunno," she said, stopping to think. "Monday? Yeah, Monday. I mean, I know it's been almost a week, and maybe I shouldn't have waited so long, but... but Denise is a grown woman, right? I mean, old enough to be my mom," she said, shrugging a shoulder. "But I really thought she'd come home."

"Was she acting strangely, the last time you saw her?" asked Nick.

"Well, she said she was scared of her boyfriend's daughter. What's her name... Ella, Etta... Emma? Yeah, that's it. Emma."

Nick had a hard time believing the young woman. It seemed all too convenient... much like the rest of the situation. "Why would she be afraid of Emma?"

"I mean, she's my roommie and all, but I didn't like to pry, y'know? Make love, not war," she said with a grin.

* * *

Renard looked up from where he'd been sitting in quiet conversation with Emma when his detectives returned. He got to his feet. "How'd it go with Ms. Callahan?"

"That's just it," Nick said, glancing from the Captain to the suspect. "She's been missing since Monday according to the roommate. Do you know anything about that?"

Emma, though, was shocked. "Missing? What do you mean missing?"

"Why don't you tell Hank everything that you know about where she might be," Nick said, glancing at his partner, who nodded, ready to take her back into the main squad room.

After Emma numbly stood and followed Hank out, Renard waited until Nick shut the door before asking: "Just what are you implying here?"

"I'm not implying anything. But somebody's going a bang-up job trying to make her look guilty if she isn't," Nick said honestly. "I've got Monroe working on a list of wesen that might be able to look like other people... but the interesting thing that came up in that conversation is that _Hexenbiests_ know how to look like others. There something there you might want to tell me, Captain? Like, how long have you really known Emma?"

Renard's jaw tightened. "I know that you and I have had our differences... but this is pushing it a bit too far, don't you think?"

"I'm just trying to cover all the bases," Nick insisted.

"I want to get to the bottom of this as much if not more than you do. If there are rogue wesen in Portland, it's my position as ranking officer of this precinct as well as a member of the royal family to see that this behavior is _stopped_."

Nick sighed and, by way of a non-apologetic apology, said: "None of this makes any sense. That's all."

Renard nodded, the tension in his jaw easing. "I'm afraid Emma may have a murder charge to top this off. With her father's former girlfriend missing..."

"Well, that's just it. I'm not so sure she is missing. We checked her through the DMV, that was her address, but she may have left long ago, of her own volition, moving somewhere else entirely. It may all just be some kind of story, something to throw suspicion off Emma. The girlfriend's roommate looked closer to Emma's age; maybe they're friends."

"What's your plan?" Renard paused. "You do have one, right?"

"Until I know what we're dealing with..." Nick shrugged. "I'm just kind of winging it," he admitted.

* * *

It was late when he finally went home. After exchanging phone numbers with Emma, Renard had seen to it that a couple uniformed officers would guard her and her apartment, just in case something happened. Plus, horrible thoughts brought on by Nick's observations kept running around in his head, festering in the most unpleasant way. What if Emma was some kind of chameleon? What if it was all some kind of grand scheme? Every thought he had seemed as improbable as the next, and it only served to exacerbate a slowly growing headache since he had seen her handcuffed first thing that morning.

Even though he was tired, sleep seemed like a foreign concept, like something that he might get around to eventually, once his brain had sorted through all of the day's revelations. Easing to sit down, he stared at nothing, letting all the thoughts tumble through his mind.

He wasn't entirely sure how long he had been sitting there, or how long his intercom had been buzzing.

"Mr. Renard, sir," answered the doorman, surprised. "There you are. There's a woman here to see you. A Miss Scott?"

"Emma?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," confirmed the doorman.

"Send her up, please," Renard replied before heading into his kitchen. Coffee. Clearly the day would make more sense with a little more caffeine. As he counted out scoops of grounds, though, he wondered why the uniforms at her apartment hadn't called... unless he'd missed his cell phone ringing as he had clearly missed his intercom.

He slid his hand into his pocket, expecting to find his phone but he came up empty. He must've left it in his coat, or in his living room. Before he could check his phone, however, there was a timid knock at the door.

He crossed to welcome his guest. "Emma."

"I know it's late," she said. "And I hope you don't mind, I just... wanted to see you."

"It's fine," he told her. "I just put some coffee on, if you..." He drifted off when he heard his cell phone ringing and saw it lighting up on the table. "If you'd like," he continued.

"With cream, please," she said. "That would be lovely."

"Make yourself at home. Sorry about the phone call..."

"Oh, no, with your job, I completely understand," she said demurely.

As Renard crossed to pick it up, he expected to see the name of one of his officers—probably from around her apartment, realizing that she was gone. Except, instead of a badge number and a last name, he was shocked to see Emma's name and a photo of her silver mask on the screen. He glanced at his guest, who was easing to sit on his couch. He headed into his kitchen as he answered. "Sean Renard."

"Sean, it's... it's Emma. I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No, of course not," he said, glancing over his shoulder at the Emma who definitely wasn't talking to him on the phone. "Where are you?"

"I'm at home. I appreciate the officers you sent to watch out for me but I... I can't really sleep. I can't really rest. This whole thing is just... unsettling," she said.

Renard pulled two coffee mugs down from the cabinet. "It's no trouble, but I'm going to have to call you back in a few minutes," he said, his voice low.

"Is everything all right?" she asked.

"I'll let you know. Talk soon," he promised, hanging up. After he filled the cups, he carried them into the living room, giving one to his guest. "It must've been shocking," he commented idly as he slipped his free hand into his pocket. "Realizing that your carefully crafted plan was foiled."

She narrowed her eyes briefly. "I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"It's Denise, right? Denise Callahan?" Renard asked, sipping his coffee.

"The high-profile nature of this case must be getting to you," she said, shaking her head.

"Well, I suppose it's an interesting twist on the classic tale. Instead of locking up the fair maiden in a tower, you're looking to lock her up in prison. Why?" he pressed, not buying the feigned innocence.

She grimaced, and Emma's face suddenly cracked along her jaw, under her hairline. When she spoke again, she didn't sound like Emma anymore, but a stranger. "Clever, Captain. He was supposed to have money. He talked all the time about how 'rich,' he was. Imagine my surprise when he meant he was 'rich' in love, in family."

"Emma's father," Renard realized. "Your former boyfriend."

She scoffed. "And Emma works, surrounded by all the precious, expensive things... But I didn't take it all. I'm not greedy. I was going to get what was mine, what was due me from her. And afterward, she would take the fall." Her facade fell entirely. She no longer looked anything like Emma. She shed her skin, like a snake, and the papery likeness fell to the floor.

The Captain was nonplussed by the turn of events which, he could tell, was infuriating to the older woman standing before him. "So, you pretended to be her 'fairy godmother' when you really wanted to be the 'cruel stepmother' all along. You knew her dress size because you had mimicked her before, probably to get into her apartment, to steal her clothes so that, when you took the items and got caught on the security cameras, you looked just like her."

"Maybe something like that," she said. She'd shed her skin in front of others before and they were always far more freaked out. It was kind of disheartening, really, that she didn't get the reaction she wanted.

He removed his hand from his pocket, pulling his cell phone with it. "And I have just recorded your confession. You're under arrest."

She sneered. "You're no prince. She's no princess. There is no happily ever after ending because that tape will never hold up in court. Nobody is going to believe a far-fetched story like that."

"In court, no, probably not," agreed Renard. "But I'll give you the option... you can confess before a Portland judge... Or you can meet a friend of mine. He's a Grimm."

* * *

Stay Tuned...

Lines from the Next Installment:

"Emma," he said, surprised to see her.

"Sean... I hope this isn't a bad time..."

"Just got a call," he said as he pulled his coat on. It was a rather gruesome scene, apparently, and he spared her those details. "But I have a moment for you."

She smiled softly up at him, thankful for whatever time he could give. "I just... just wanted to say thanks. I thought maybe I could properly show you my gratitude, over coffee... sometime?" she ventured.


	6. Epilogue

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously, on Grimm: Nick and Hank go investigate Denise Callahan, the girlfriend of Emma's late father, but find that she's missing. Renard retires for the evening but gets a late night visitor who isn't all that she seems.

* * *

Nick and Hank glanced at the Captain, who was standing along the wall in the back of the courtroom, watching as Denise Callahan was brought before the judge for her initial appearance. None of them had slept, but only Renard looked at all put together.

"So, what is she exactly?" Hank asked in a whisper, leaning toward Nick.

"Rosalee said, best she can tell after looking at the..." Nick swallowed what he was going to say: 'snakeskin,' for a more euphemistic term, given their surroundings. "At the evidence... and it looked like it was from a rare kind of Lausenchlange."

Renard cleared his throat, glancing over at them. When he returned his attention to the front of the courtroom, the judge was asking Denise, already in county correctional orange, how she wanted to plead.

She was defiantly silent for a moment, before catching Renard's cold eyes. "Guilty, your honor," she said to the astonished murmurings of the crowd in the gallery.

With a slight nod, Renard turned to leave. Nick and Hank weren't far behind. Before they could make it out of the courthouse, the Captain was stopped by a small group that included the Mayor, the Chief, and several members of Portland's elite. Each was congratulatory and thankful for Renard's hard work in finding the real thief and eliciting a confession, all within a week.

"It was a team effort," Renard assured them. "Thankfully, we have incredible officers in the Portland Police Department, particularly in lead detectives Nick Burkhardt and Hank Griffin," he said, gesturing at them. "And, we wouldn't have found the true thief if not for Emma Scott." He looked at the Mayor. "Wasn't there a reward? I think you might need to draw up a funds transfer."

"It's already in progress," the Mayor assured him.

While the others were distracted by Nick and Hank, Renard headed out into the morning sun to greet the waiting press with the Mayor and the Chief.

* * *

Emma had been shocked when Renard had called in the middle of the night to tell her that they had caught the true thief. Rather than spook her with the truth about Denise's wesen abilities, Renard had told her that others had been hired by Denise, like her supposed fairy godmother with the ticket and the dress. It had been a huge relief, and it had infinitely softened the blow that came when her company released her from their employ.

She really couldn't blame them. Guilt by association was unfair, but it existed. She'd seen the video image of herself, stealing a necklace. If she had been in the shoes of the homeowner, she wouldn't want anyone with her face walking about her home either. At least she was financially set for a little while as she searched for a new job. She had already been by City Hall that morning to pick up her reward check for providing information that led to the arrest and confession of the thief.

She lingered at the police station, after the morning press briefing. She wanted to see her Captain. It wasn't long before he emerged from his office.

"Emma," he said, surprised to see her.

"Sean... I hope this isn't a bad time..."

"Just got a call," he said as he pulled his coat on. It was a rather gruesome scene, apparently, and he spared her those details. "But I have a moment for you."

She smiled softly up at him, thankful for whatever time he could give. "I just... just wanted to say thanks. I thought maybe I could properly show you my gratitude, over coffee... sometime?" she ventured.

His thoughts drifted back mere hours ago, to the coffee with her lookalike. Inwardly, he shuddered. "How about dinner instead?" he asked. "Tomorrow?"

"Yeah," she said, her smile growing. "I'd like that very much."

"Good," he said. "I'll pick you up at seven thirty." He started to walk down the corridor, but paused and returned to her. "Emma?" When she looked up at him, he reached into the interior pocket of his jacket. "I almost forgot." He pulled out the spare ticket he had gotten from the Chief and offered it to her. "Apparently I did have a date to the masquerade Friday."

She was stunned, accepting the ticket from him.

He leaned in and quickly kissed her cheek. "Until tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," she murmured softly in return.

* * *

End.


End file.
